A Cat for Mr Spock
by Sam.Mule
Summary: Starts with the Enterprise's attempt to take down a child slavery ring on the outskirts of human civilization, moves on from there. Eventual K/S
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, or this universe in any way shape or form. I don't even hold any stock in it.

Jim Kirk knew that he wanted to acquire a cat for his first officer ever since he saw the half-Vulcan interacting with a blind vendor's big white tom on Earth Colony 13. They were on a Priority One mission to rescue thirty-one victims of an intergalactic child slavery ring, and all evidence had led them here, to the single biggest tent-city slum in the entire jurisdiction of the Federation. The devastating poverty shook Jim to his core; Iowa wasn't rich, and it had its share of unfortunates, but no one ever starved to death; no one died from severe malnutrition. The children on Earth Colony 13 were often seemingly without any parental guidance, running roughshod in the streets, wanting for shoes, food, clothing, begging and stealing, constantly in danger of the child snatchers who would make periodic raids of the planet's more populated areas. Jim was stricken by the sight of small children with distended bellies, mothers suckling babies with bottles of obviously contaminated water, cripples left lying prone in the streets. Damn, he thought, we got our shit together and fixed Africa, and India, but all we really did was move our problems farther away. And as horrible as he felt, he could tell that Spock was even more alarmed; his pointy eared friend had drawn his mouth into a tight, unhappy little line, betraying his extreme distress. Jim knew that, behind his stony exterior, Spock was a bleeding heart liberal, a pacifist with seemingly boundless empathy. This mission was an eye-opener for the both of them in the area of socioeconomic equity. Damn, but this was supposed to be a quasi-utopia!

They wandered through the hot, dusty streets as quickly as possible, keeping a weather eye open for pickpockets, and occasionally stopping to ask the natives for directions to Akron Bender's trading post. They were frequently misdirected. The inhabitants in sector four, where the two of them had beamed down, were especially skeptical of outsiders after the "Desert Crop" scam twenty-three years earlier. Come late in the afternoon, as the glaring sun was just beginning to back off and let the gathering cold font from the southern hemisphere have its chance, Jim and Spock were exhausted. Jim in particular was in need of a rest, as he was unused to heat of that magnitude and the desert atmosphere. He had stripped down to his undershirt, tying his captain's shirt onto his head like a turban, and was desperately fanning his face with a dusty piece of cardboard he had found in the street. Spock, of course, was unaffected by the heat; in fact, Jim remarked dryly to himself, the pointy-eared bastard wasn't even sweating, not even a little, and his hair was still flat and tidy, just the same as it had been when the two of them had beamed down from the Enterprise. The jerk didn't even look dusty. Damn Spock and his Vulcan perfection.

It would have been so much easier, mused Jim, if they had been able to beam down to the precise location of the trading post; however, as Scotty had so patiently explained, there were no street names in Sector four. The natives knew their way around by rote memory. Besides, the locations of any 'landmark' shops or gathering places moved frequently, in an effort to confound would-be thieves and ruffians, and also to prevent the Federation authorities from effectively cracking down on the crime rings which made up the area's entire economy. As such, they had only been provided with an approximation of the locale, and had to find the exact coordinates themselves.

"Captain?" Jim shook himself out of his mental dialogue to find that Spock had stopped walking and was looking at Jim with subtly expressed yet obvious concern. "Captain, perhaps a momentary cessation of our search would be prudent." Jim noticed that Spock had pointedly neglected to explain why such a 'cessation' would be 'prudent,' and appreciated the gesture. He considered accepting, but also considered the fact that the sun would be setting in a few hours and they needed to arrive at their destination before that eventuality, and then find the local Federation Embassy, or else they would have no place to sleep.

"I appreciate the gesture, Spock," said Jim, smiling briefly at his first officer, "but I'm fine. We need to keep going. I don't know about you, but they couldn't pay me to get stuck without a place to sleep in this neighborhood." Spock raised his eyebrow at Kirk.

"It is most improbable that anyone would pay you to do so, but I see your point. It would do us well to find this… 'trading post' within the hour, make our inquiries, and then find our way to the embassy before twenty-two hours, which is a very rough approximate of when the sun sets." Jim whistled.

"Dude, the sun sets really late here." Spock shrugged his left shoulder.

"That much ought to be relatively unremarkable," Spock remarked, "considering our high latitude and the time of year. If I understand correctly, this planet follows much the same patterns as your home planet, Earth. I believe that northern areas such as the land mass known as Greenland have particularly long days during the summer time." Jim smiled again and resumed walking. Trust Spock to have a ready riposte to every inane comment that came out of Jim's mouth. If Jim weren't so nice, he would have marooned the smart-alecky Vulcan on the ice planet Delta Vega a long time ago. Well, not really.

"Yeah, but," Jim retorted, relishing the easy banter which was a welcome distraction from the blistering heat and depressing surroundings, "this is a desert. Greenland is a big sheet of ice, just like all of earth's upper and lower latitudes. You can't blame me for not making the connection between two such disparate climates."

"Actually," replied Spock, "the climate of much of the upper Northern hemisphere, as well as the lower Southern hemisphere, is, as a matter of fact, classified as desert." Of course it is, thought Jim. I learned that in the third grade. "Thus, by your own logic, the relative lateness of the setting of the sun should be no mystery."

"Of course, Spock," ceded Jim. "Once again, I am defeated by your vastly superior intellect. Ooh, look," he suddenly exclaimed, pointing at a small, sorry looking booth down the way a bit, "shish ka bobs!" Spock rolled his eyes, just a little, but grudgingly followed Jim as he made his way to the little kiosk, which was operated by a small, skeletal man with two crisscrossing eye patches. Jim, obviously ravenous, bounded up like a runaway puppy who had just found his way home.

"Hi, I'd like two shish ka bobs please? Yeah, one with the works, and can you make one just veggie?" The blind man looked (for lack of a better word) at Jim like that was the craziest effin thing he had ever heard.

"Veggie? Hee hee hee!" The blind man had a cackle like a horny rooster. Jim looked around at Spock, somewhat disconcerted. Spock gave him a look that clearly said, well, you got yourself into this.

"Yes," said Jim. "My friend here is a vegetarian." The blind man gave another long, loud cackle, and Jim narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"VEGGIE-TARIAN? HEE HEE HEE!" Jim was down right confused now. Spock pulled him off to the side a little.

"Captain," said Spock into Jim's ear, "I do not require sustenance at this time. It is not necessary to purchase a … 'shish ka bob' for me." Jim gave him a look that blatantly said Spock was crazy. Meanwhile, the crazy ka bob vendor kept cackling away, hee hee hee.

"Look Spock, you haven't eaten in hours." Spock was unmoved.

"Vulcans can go much longer without food than can humans. I suggest that you eat now, and I will wait until we reach the embassy." Jim nodded unhappily.

"Scratch the vegetarian order," said Jim to the now-calm vendor. "Just one regular shish ka bob, please." But the skeletal man looked at Jim in confusion.

"No," he said, "two ka bobs."

"No," said Jim, "one, with meat." The blind man was more perplexed by the moment.

"Look!" he said. "I make veggie-bob for you!" And so he had. The little man held the vegetarian shish ka bob up like it was a great triumph, grinning broadly. Man, thought Jim, that's a lot of missed dental checkups, right there. Meanwhile, Spock had glanced up, doing that little tilt of his head he made when curious or confused. He reached out to take the proffered food item and nibbled at the top experimentally. He seemed to find it suitable.

"I am most grateful for your effort," said Spock, pulling out a few federation bills. The blind man 'eyed' them greedily, instinctively turning his head toward the sound of the rustling paper. Jim accepted his own ka bob, happy that things had turned out so well. Spock was forking over some money, to much smiling and chattering of the vendor, when the big white cat prowled out from the shack behind the booth. Easily the size of a beagle, the cat was one of the biggest domesticated felines Jim had ever seen.

"Here, kitty," said Jim, kneeling down and trying to pet the cat. The cat looked at the offending hand with what seemed to Jim to be disgust; the cat shunned Jim, choosing instead to wrap itself around Spock's legs.

"He likes da big one better," said the little ka bob vendor, and, after a quick mental measurement, Jim supposed that Spock was, indeed, the big one. But not by much. Meanwhile, Spock had kneeled down to rub the soft spot behind the cat's ears, putting as much concentration into the activity as he did in his duties as Science Officer, which was to say, a lot.

"What is the feline's name?" inquired Spock, showing as much interest in the cat as Jim thought he'd ever seen Spock show in anything.

"The cat be called Jack," said the vendor. "He my seeing eye cat! HEE HEE HEE!" Wow, thought Jim, as the vendor laughed his head off. That really wasn't all that funny. He turned back to Spock, who looked like he was trying to fuse his elegant hands with the cat's dusty white fur. For a couple minutes, Jim was engrossed in watching Spock pet the cat; the look of calm that had washed over his first officer's face was reminiscent of how the Vulcan looked while meditating, or sleeping, not that Jim had had much opportunity to witness either. And then Jim was entranced by the movements of those long, pale fingers, massaging the cat's back now with the most considerate, gentle strokes. Amazing, thought Jim, it's like the rest of the world has fallen away. He could have stood there forever, and obviously Spock could have continued in his activity for equally as long, but a new burst of cackles from the street vendor snapped Jim from his reverie. But not Spock from his.

"Spock," said Jim trying to rouse his comrade. No response. "Spock." Jim gently placed his hand on top of Spock's shoulder. Wow, Jim thought. I can see why the cat likes him. He's warm, and soft… startled, Spock jumped a little, and immediately tensed up. Oh yeah, thought Jim, Vulcan, and retracted his hand. "Come on. We've gotta go." Spock immediately got to his feet, smoothing down his uniform and glancing about in a cutely bewildered fashion. Yeah, thought Jim, I'm a man. Thinking Spock is cute doesn't do anything to damage that. Because, of course, it's absolutely true.

"I apologize, Captain, for my lapse in concentration. I have regained my focus and am ready to proceed to our destination." And with that, the mask was back on. This particular transformation always fascinated, and disappointed, Jim.

"It's perfectly alright, Spock." Turning now to the blind man, he inquired as to the whereabouts of Akron Bender's trading post.

"Just 'round da corner," came the reply. "Hee hee hee!"

Five minutes later, Spock and Jim were standing in front of the checkout counter of a very ratty sort-of convenience store, where pelts and boots and canvas were sold instead of chips and soda. The store's owner, standing in front of them, was a dour, greasy, sweaty man with rather too much hair on his body for this sort of climate. He was only wearing his underwear, however, so, Jim figured, it all worked out.

"What d'yeh want?" asked the man in what seemed to be the least friendly manner possible. Spock looked briefly at Kirk, wordlessly asking permission to proceed, before stepping forward.

"Pardon me," said Spock, politely, "we are conducting an investigation on behalf of the Federation, and we had some questions we would like to…" The man's face had closed off entirely as soon as the Federation was mentioned.

"Ye can stick yer questions up yer ass," came the snarled interruption. The already hostile shopkeeper suddenly looked like a caged tiger. Spock tilted his head, perplexed.

"It is physically impossible to stick questions anywhere, as they…" once again, Spock was interrupted, this time by Kirk, who had stepped up alongside Spock and, once again, placed his hand on Spock's shoulder, freezing the Vulcan as effectively as absolute zero temperatures. Damn, thought Jim, I keep forgetting. But he left his hand where it was, attempting to convey a sense of unity to the grotesque troll in front of them, oblivious to the fact that his Vulcan seemed to have stopped breathing.

"Excuse me, Mister, uhh, Bender. But you seem to have neglected the fact that me and Mister Spock here are Federation officers with a tremendous amount of authority over you and the rest of your sorry neighborhood. You _will_ answer our questions, or the Federation will be so far up _your_ ass that you won't be able to sit without squirming." And that was that. He took his hand off Spock's shoulder but missed the long, quiet, relieved exhalation that followed.

"It constantly amazes me," remarked Spock as he and Jim made their way up the Embassy steps. "You have such ill-mannered diplomacy, and yet it never fails to produce the desired ends." Jim flashed a roguish grin at his stiff companion, wondering a little at the slight twitch of Spock's fingers as he did so.

"What can I say? My charm never fails to impress." The two stopped at the reception desk. "Yes, hi, I'm Captain James T. Kirk and this is my first officer, Mister Spock."

"Ahh, yes," replied the stern young woman behind the desk. "You will be staying in the guest wing, second floor, room 209. Further instruction for your mission will be found on the PADD on the wardrobe. You will meet with Admiral Cole tomorrow morning at eight sharp."

"Just one room?" asked Jim. The woman looked slightly irritated.

"This is the poorest planet in the Federation. I'm sure you can deal with sharing a room." Jim nodded, looking over at Spock, who was looking at the wall with a distinctive non-expression. There better be two beds, he thought, because Spock has probably had enough close contact for the day.

"Right," said Jim, "of course," and took the key. "What a very efficient woman," he said as the two got in the elevator.

"Indeed." AS the lift's doors opened with a 'ping' and a slight creaking noise, Spock and Jim both stepped back to allow the other to exit first. "Captain, after you." Jim made a face.

"Look, I'm tired, it's dark out, and I'm tired of being on duty. Call me Jim." Spock pursed his lips, just ever so slightly.

"As we are on a mission, neither of us is ever 'off duty.' Thus, it is only proper that I continue to refer to you by your official title."

"But it's not what friends would do." This argument gave Spock pause; he seemed to be considering the implications of the sentence, and Jim wondered at how such a smart guy had such difficulty accepting informal human etiquette. "Bones calls me Jim when we're on duty, and I call him Bones. He's my friend, and so are you." Spock thought for a moment before inclining his head in agreement.

"After you, then…Jim." Jim smiled and shook his head, but exited the elevator first, turning right and approaching the room. Oh, thank goodness, he thought as he opened the door, two beds, just like a motel room. Most motel rooms were a little more attractive than this, though. Spock glanced around with barely veiled distaste. He looked like he was about to say something, but then thought better of it.

"Well," said Jim, clapping his hands together and dumping the pack he had been carrying on his back, "welcome to headquarters. I call dibbs on the bathroom."


	2. Chapter 2

The sun rose, Jim didn't. He was already up, draped over the armchair in the corner of the room, dripping sweat and sucking down lukewarm, watery coffee. He was restless and jittery and wanted to be moving, but it was just too hot. The sheets had gotten way too sticky to possibly sleep more than a couple hours, and Jim had barely even gotten that. He had spent the first couple hours of the evening watching Spock meditate, and then spent the next couple hours drifting in and out of dreams before he got fed up and spent the _next_ couple hours watching Spock sleep, which was surprisingly entertaining. One gets a certain pleasure from watching a Vulcan drool, and Jim could suddenly imagine Spock as he might have been as a child, a really tiny one, all curled up in bed with the blankets. Really, thought Jim, you'd think the Vulcan was _cold_. But he was awfully cute like that.

When Spock awoke, exactly at oh seven hundred hours, the kittenish image he had just moments ago projected was gone in the space of a moment. And when he looked up, there was Jim, sitting quietly on the edge of his bed, staring at Spock as if he were the most fascinating thing in the world. Spock raised a dubious eyebrow.

"You don't even have bed hair," marveled Jim, his eyes wide as he regarded what seemed to him to be the very image of composure. He, on the other hand, looked a little like a wet rat. Not his sexiest. Spock seemed to notice.

"Jim, if I may be permitted to comment, you do not seem to have slept very well." Jim grinned ruefully, but internally rejoiced that the 'captain' label seemed to be gone, at least for the moment.

"No," he said, running a hand through his hair. "It just wasn't happening. I'll be alright, though. Get me moving, I'll be just like the energizer bunny." To emphasize his point, he stuck his hands behind his head to form big ears and bounced up and down on the bed a bit. Spock seemed torn between worry and bemusement.

"Perhaps it would benefit you to shower." Jim snorted.

"I already did. The water is sulfurous. Not too pleasant. I would recommend taking one only if you're really desperate." Spock nodded before going into the bathroom, leaving Jim to, once again, sit on his ass and suck down coffee like it was the elixir of life. After ten minutes or so, Spock came back out, wet, a towel around his waist. He's so skinny, thought Jim; it must be his vegetarian diet. He then felt embarrassed about staring and ducked his head, suddenly unsure where to look. Well, he thought, it's not like I was eyeing him up.

"I agree with your assessment of the water," said Spock as he rummaged through his suitcase, looking for a change of clothes. "It is most unpleasant." Jim nodded, very pointedly not looking at Spock. And then Spock was back in the bathroom, and Jim could breathe again. Man, he thought, maybe I should think about trying to keep my clothes on a bit more around the crew. I guess it's not _always _imperative that I find a way to lose my shirt. When Spock came out again, he was back in his science blues.

"Spock, do you have anything to wear besides your uniform?" Spock looked perplexedly at Jim. "I just mean, we're carrying on an investigation, right? Maybe it would be better to, you know, wear civvies, go in cognito. You know, so people aren't immediately alerted to our presence." Spock stroked his bottom lip thoughtfully with his thumb.

"Your argument does have merit." Score, thought Jim. "But," continued Spock; Jim cursed, just a little, to himself; "I do not actually have, in my possession, any clothes beyond my federation uniforms." Jim looked at Spock incredulously.

"You have no other clothes?" Spock shook his head no. "Really?" Still no, apparently. Jim was shocked. He thought that Spock might have some sort of Vulcan traditional attire, or something, but apparently not. Well, that was that plan shot to hell.

"Possibly the uniforms might not be so much of a detriment to our cause," said Spock, grabbing the PADD off of the dresser. "There is the potential that the uniforms will give us authority and legitimacy, thus convincing people to speak who might not have other wise. Also, even if we were to wear civilian clothes, the conditions of our clothing would be such that the native inhabitants of sector four would be able to recognize us outsiders despite our disguise, and might become more reticent." Jim nodded, but regretfully.

"Damn. I so wanted to be all, like, I dunno, a plainclothes detective. But whatever. We just gotta get the job done, right? What are our next instructions?" Spock looked down at the PADD.

"Well, apparently any further action we undertake depends upon what we discovered yesterday when we questioned Mr. Bender. Also, we are instructed to meet with Admiral Cole in approximately thirty five point three four oh nine minutes."

"Well," commented Jim, "That was fairly unhelpful."

At eight o'clock, sharp, both Jim and Spock were sitting in conference room one with the very dour Admiral Cole. Does this woman ever smile, thought Jim, like, ever? Apparently not.

"Gentlemen," she said, glaring sternly at the two of them. She actually reminded Jim a lot of the receptionist. Maybe they're the same person, he mused. "It is most irregular for both the captain of a ship and his first officer to go on a mission, together, leaving the ship without effective leadership." She has the same hair color as the receptionist, thought Jim.

"Uh, yeah," he said, his hands fiddling nervously. "I thought you'd ask about that. But Admiral Pike specified that the two best from our ship should go on this mission, and, well," Jim glanced sideways at Spock, who seemed to be scrutinizing Cole, "me and Spock, together, we're the best." The corner of Spock's mouth seemed to go up the tiniest increment, and he quickly glanced over at Jim before going back to considering the admiral. "Besides," continued Jim, "I have not left the Enterprise without effective leadership. Sulu is almost as good a leader as he is a pilot." He mused to himself for a second. Were Cole's eyes the same color as the receptionist's? "I think Sulu's going to captain a ship himself, someday." Cole looked at him dubiously.

"What's done is done, I suppose," she said, while Spock and Jim examined her nose. "Perhaps one of you could give me the report from yesterday." Jim looked at Spock, who looked back at him and seemed to sit a bit straighter. Jim didn't even know how that was possible, but Spock 'straight' spectrum seemed a lot narrower than most people's.

"If I may, Captain." Jim nodded.

"Take it, Mr. Spock." Spock turned to fully face Admiral Cole.

"As you know, yesterday we located and questioned a Mr. Akron Bender, who had anonymously communicated the valuable information as to the planetary whereabouts of the ship entitled 'Poltroon,' which had been implicated in several child kidnappings throughout the galaxy. The message left by Mr. Bender indicated that the children were being sold as slaves, thus making the matter one of priority import. We were able to ascertain Mr. Bender's name and approximate location by matching his voice prints with those in his police file." Spock paused to look down briefly at his PADD. "Mr. Bender is a repeat offender.

"The subject was originally…reticent to speak with us, but Captain Kirk was able to convince the man that answering our questions would be to his benefit. We first queried him as to the circumstances of his having ascertained the knowledge of the location and purpose of the slave ship. He informed us that the ship's leadership had attempted to gain permission to use Mr. Bender's 'trading post' as a venue for selling their cargo. Mr. Bender refused, citing a recent criminal offense that, he said, and I quote, 'gotten the cops up my ass.'" Kirk chuckled a bit before Cole stared him down. He swallowed, forcing a straight face. Spock continued.

"Perhaps the most valuable piece of information given to us was the precise location of the ship 'Poltroon.' Mr. Bender said that it could be found in a landfill on the western border of sector four, precisely on the edge of the Torsion wastelands. I have taken down the coordinates here on the PADD. We also know that the slave traders intend to leave tomorrow at oh six hundred hours. Thus it is imperative that we make our move before that eventuality. Captain?" Spock turned expectantly toward Jim, who cleared his throat and placed his hands on the table in front of him, suddenly appropriating the attitude that Bones referred to as his 'you should take me seriously against your better judgment' look.

"I suggest that Mr. Spock and I scout out the area today, see how many crewmen they have and what their Achilles heel is. Then tonight, under the cover of darkness, I was hoping to get some of the local police to come in with the two of us, along with some select members of the Enterprise, and we'll apprehend the targets before they have a chance to take off. Then, tomorrow, we'll attempt to track down any children who might have been sold in the past couple of days, hopefully using the records we will have picked up from the captured ship." Admiral Cole nodded her assent.

"I would suggest that you follow that course of action. However, you can't go into the area in those uniforms." Kirk smirked and looked over at Spock, who gave a little shrug, as if to say, well, I can't be right _all_ the time.

"Yeah," said Jim, "that's what I said. But Spock here only has his uniform." Cole raised an eyebrow. Spock raised an eyebrow back at her.

"Well," she said, "lend him some of your clothes." Oh yeah. That was obvious.

"Oh," Jim said suddenly, "you guys don't have any fans in the building, do you?" Cole looked at him as if he were crazy. Spock merely looked thoughtful. "Cause, the heat kind of makes it hard to sleep." A shake of the head told Jim all he needed to know. Damn. He needed another cup of coffee. "Alright, then."

And on that note, the meeting was over.

On their way up to the second floor, Jim turned eagerly to Spock.

"So?" he said. Spock looked at him perplexedly.

"To what are you referring?" Spock inquired looking around the elevator to see if there was something he'd missed.

"Admiral Cole. She looked just like the receptionist!" Spock's eyes suddenly lit up with amusement, and Jim was happy to be sharing a sort of joke with his first officer. We should do that more often, he thought.

"I had indeed noticed the extensive similarities between Admiral Cole and the receptionist," said Spock. "In fact, their similarities were so extensive that I would venture to say that, if not related by birth, they are most likely the same exact person." Jim chuckled.

"Man," he said, "they really don't have any money if the resident Admiral also plays the part of receptionist." Spock quirked an eyebrow in amusement.

"Indeed."

Back in the room, Spock held a red t-shirt up to his chest dubiously. Jim had already changed into civilian wear; it was nice to be able to put on a pair of shorts as opposed to those horrible hot pants. Black might be slimming, but it also effectively made the Federation uniform into a pretty fair oven, and that wasn't always welcome.

"I am not certain that my shoulders are quite small enough for this shirt." Jim looked at said shoulders, attempting to mentally calculate how big they were in centimeters. Spock did have fairly wide shoulders.

"The shirt's stretchy," he said, "they'll fit. You know, with your superior brain power, it should have been pretty obvious to you that we ought to disguise ourselves." Spock narrowed his eyes a fraction.

"It has never before been a necessity for us to garb ourselves in alternative attire for a mission," commented Spock just a tad bit icily, "and I hold by my assertion that, no matter what our attire, we will still, to borrow a phrase out of Dr. McCoy's repertoire, 'stick out like sore thumbs.'" Jim held up his hands in a mock plea for mercy.

"Okay, okay. Go get changed."

When Spock reentered the bedroom, Jim was looking at the best available map of sector four. Hearing the door, he folded the map up and stuck it in the day pack. He looked up at Spock.

"You know," he said, looking his friend up and down, "that outfit makes you look almost…human." Spock did that tilting thing he did with his head, the one that made Jim a little giddy. Or that could be the caffeine racing through his system.

"There is no need to insult me, Jim," said Spock, but Jim could tell he was joking; there was that little glint in his eye, the one he got when tying Bones into little knots.

"You know, you're awfully snippy today."

"Vulcans are never 'snippy.'"

"Oh, so we're playing the 'Vulcans don't' game today, are we?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Shut up. We have to go."

And with that, they left. Almost immediately, Spock commandeered the map.

"With the distance from here to our destination, it would be wise to acquire a vehicle." Jim wrinkled his nose.

"The embassy here probably doesn't have one. They don't get enough money to get a fan; a car is probably right out."

"Regardless, it should not do us any harm to ask."

As it turned out, the embassy did have a car they could use, an old rust bucket that looked like it was from the nineteenth century. The ignition was a little faulty, but Jim knew cars pretty well; he had a history with them, one might say. He was able to get it running, and away they went through the narrow, crowded streets of sector four, albeit very, very slowly. He tried the AC, hoping against hope that it worked, but it unfortunately did not. So he had to content himself with rolling down all the windows and getting cool from the breeze, which ruffled Spock's hair and caused the Vulcan to spend the first twenty minutes of the car ride trying to keep his hair down by placing both hands on his head like a hat. He eventually gave up this goal as impossible and faintly ridiculous. As an alternative activity, he took to looking out the window, taking in the sights and smells, and considering the meaning of the word 'destitution.'

After about a half an hour of silence Jim, fed up with the silence, suddenly spoke up.

"Spock, have you ever…have you ever had a cat?" Spock turned his head inquisitively toward Jim.

"No, I have not." Hmm. Jim supposed that he should have figured as much.

"Have you ever had any other pets?" Spock took a moment to consider.

"My family had a sehlat," he finally said. Jim gave him a blank look. "I would greatly appreciate it if you kept your eyes on the dirt path." Jim huffed a little, feeling unnecessarily chastised, and then waited for Spock to elaborate. "A sehlat is vaguely similar to an earth bear."

"A bear?!" Spock quirked his mouth up a little at Jim's incredulity.

"To say that a sehlat is like a bear is to make a very rough approximation. The two creatures are quite different. For example, a sehlat has much bigger fangs." Jim shook his head in amazement.

"That doesn't seem like a safe pet for children," he said. "What was its name?" Spock's response did not come immediately, and Jim spared a moment from watching the road to check up on his Vulcan, who seemed slightly irritated.

"The sehlat's name was I Chaya," said Spock finally. He took a deep breath. "He died rescuing me." Jim suddenly felt bad for mentioning it, and desperately tried to come up with an alternative subject, one with fewer childhood memories associated with it.

"Yeah," he said, "we never had household pets. We just had barnyard animals, you know, poultry and the like. Spock perked up, tilting his head in that inquisitive fashion of his.

"Fascinating," he said. "To what purpose did they serve?" And so Jim explained to Spock about his crazy childhood, his technophobe mother and her myriad crazy boyfriends. Spock was a great listener, and completely engrossed in Jim's tales, and so Jim found himself basically giving Spock his autobiography. Interestingly enough, he didn't mind being so open. Spock was surprisingly non-judgmental for such a, well, judgmental person. But Jim realized that Spock was only judgmental when he thought their lives depended upon it, or else when he thought he was being judged. Thus, Jim felt no qualms about telling Spock about his checkered past. And in return, much to Jim's surprise, Spock shared some tidbits from his own childhood, including one incident in which he beat up some bully. Jim had meant to keep Spock from dwelling upon his childhood, due to his initial, poor reaction, but now Spock seemed fine with it. They were both so drawn into the conversation that they didn't notice the tents and shacks growing sparser, the land opening up, or the fairly obvious landfill off to their right. In fact, neither of them noticed the fact that they had reached their destination until there was a great roaring noise, and a small ship blasted off from the landfill into outer space.

Jim braked the car violently, throwing Spock forward. The two bolted from the car and stood, looking up.

"I believe," said Spock tersely, "that that was the slave ship 'Poltroon.'" Jim balled his fists up and kicked at the dirt.

"Shit!" he yelled. "Shit!"


End file.
